


Purgatory ficlet (English)

by carrionofmywaywardson



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, English, Horror, M/M, Purgatory Fic, nobody reads this and this is one of my favorite fics ;A;, written before season 8 aired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 09:51:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrionofmywaywardson/pseuds/carrionofmywaywardson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'God, anything but that. Not again. Not now, when it seemed that things were getting better.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purgatory ficlet (English)

**Author's Note:**

> translated by [Natalia](http://organicapplepie.tumblr.com/)

They’re tearing through a deep ocean of ferns – a pleasant change from the sea of nettles, which they fought their way through for the last two days – when Castiel stops without a warning and Dean slams into him, hitting his nose against the back of the angel’s head. Castiel doesn’t even budge, being completely still, his body taut like a bowstring, so that Dean pushes away an urge to give out about this sudden stop and, grabbing his pulsating with pain nose, he looks around and over the angel’s shoulder, looking out for potential danger. It’s been many days since they came across one of the Purgatory creatures, so his senses are fully alert and he’s certain, that if anything is lurking nearby, he will certainly manage to notice it without a problem. Yet, he doesn’t see anything. Doesn’t sense anything. And Castiel doesn’t look like he spotted something suspicious. He’s just standing. Motionless, except for his slightly shaking shoulders.  
  
Dean frowns and reaches out to him, but he draws back as if he’s been burnt, when he realises that Castiel’s shoulders tremble from the laughter he’s holding back.  
  
God, anything but that. Not again. Not now, when it seemed that things were getting better.  
  
But then again, nothing in Dean Winchester’s life is ever going well.

Castiel turns around slowly, and Dean swallows, muffling a whine of despair.

He doesn’t even have time to blink, because in a split of a second he finds himself on his back, weighed down by the frenzied, blind fury which Castiel has turned into. The only thing he can do is to raise his arm and shield his face from the angel’s jaws, which suddenly seem to bristle with hundreds of sharp, needle-like teeth. Dean doesn’t know whether he’s hallucinating, or whether Cas is still possessed by some lone, forgotten Leviathan, that clung to the remains of the angel’s Grace when it exploded in the water. Or maybe it was some part of this Grace, polluted by the contact with millions of cursed souls, that mutated and changed into this mindless creature, that continuously tries to fight its way into freedom whenever Cas lets his guard down. Or maybe it’s the poisonous, oozing atmosphere of Purgatory that tries to turn him into something that will be more digestible for it. The angel’s wings, beating somewhere around the corners of Dean’s vision, are deformed, broken, resembling dried branches on an almost bare tree, only covered with a handful of blackened, rotten, dead leaves. Even though Castiel’s eyes are open wide, his pupils are so narrowed that they’re nothing more than barely visible spots in the ocean of a steel-blue madness. Inhuman, wheezy noises rip out of his throat, spit drips onto the hunter’s face, and suddenly, Dean is in that room again with Lilith and Sam, his brother pinned to the wall, watching helplessly as the hellish creature tears him apart, devours him alive and rips his soul out of him, and it takes the hunter enormous effort to cling to the reality, so that the lunacy that surrounds the angel won’t swallow him up too.

But when black, thick ooze starts to flow out from behind the angel’s eyelids, a sob escapes Dean’s lips and it doesn’t matter anymore whether this is really happening, or if it’s just Dean’s imagination.

"Cas, Cas, snap out of it, dammit", he shouts, trying to push away the angel’s jaws. Castiel laughs with a disgusting, sickening laugh, that sounds more like a howl. He easily avoids Dean’s hands, and sinks his teeth in his arm. Dean’s vision turns black, not only because his eyes were being flooded with black ooze, running down from Castiel’s eyes and lips, as well as his own blood. He uses all his strength to jerk away and free his hand, leaving a piece of his flesh between the angel’s teeth. He chews it, squinting in pleasure. Dean doesn’t waste time and punches the angel – who is too busy swallowing – with his healthy fist. The angle of the blow isn’t exactly good, but he puts all of his energy into it, and Castiel’s head jerks back, and then all it takes are a few rapid, violent movements to throw Cas off of him, push him to the ground and press him into it with the weight of his own body.

In Purgatory, Castiel’s powers are limited, and even though in his true form the angel still remains inhumanly strong, the evil surroundings don’t let him take this form for longer periods of time. Reduced to merely a human vessel, he can only count on his muscles. Now, however, he draws more strength from his madness and Dean cannot let himself make even a tiniest mistake. Without hesitation he curls his hand into a fist, bites down on his lip until he tastes blood and starts throwing punches until Castiel’s massacred face loses its animalistic expression and Cas starts to whine, trying to get at least a weak grip on Dean’s shoulders to stop him.

Dean stops only when Castiel says his name with a broken voice. It is then that the hunter slides off and onto the ground beside the angel, panting heavily and bringing both of his hands to his chest –one of them bitten to the bone, and the other bruised and raw from the punches. The air and everything around them stinks of blood and fear. Dean feels like he’s permeated with the stench, like he’ll never be able to get rid of it, even if by some miracle they will find a way to escape this place. Something which Dean no longer hopes for.  
  
Castiel’s breathing is heavy and ragged; Dean must have injured his trachea when he squeezed his fingers on his throat at some point, but with every passing moment it becomes more quiet and regular, as the Grace slowly flows through his body, healing his wounds and bringing back his clarity of mind. Finally, Dean doesn’t hear anything but his own wheezing panting. Few days ago, Castiel’s voice and his guilty _Dean…_ ’s and _Maybe we should…_ ’s and _I don’t want to…_ ’s would slice through the silence, but now Castiel knows, that the only possible answer he would ever receive from Dean would be a _Shut up, Cas. You won’t get rid of me that easily_ , forced out from between clenched from pain teeth. In silence, without looking at the hunter, the angel holds both of his hands in his own and heals them for the hundredth, thousandth time, and Dean closes his eyes and tries not to think about what he will have to do if one day he won’t manage to bring Cas back.


End file.
